The morning sun bled through the mist, scattering pale gold across the forest. The air was sharp, almost metallic, carrying the faint tang of blood from the ambush that had taken place the day before. Alaric stood in the clearing, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze fixed on the thin trail of smoke rising from the east — the direction of Ashenfall's outer wall.
They had noticed.
Scouts reported movement at dawn — a strike force had departed from the city, banners of crimson and silver flickering like wounded fireflies in the distance. Alaric could almost feel their rhythm, disciplined and deliberate. They weren't sending amateurs.
"Two companies," Talia said, her eyes narrowing as she studied the field map stretched across the wooden table. "Roughly four hundred men, and two mages. Likely a probe to draw us out."
Alaric's lips tightened into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Then let's give them exactly what they're looking for."
He turned to Ryn Tal. "Set the traps along the western ridge. The terrain there will break their formation. Hagen takes the right flank with the archers — I want volleys synchronized with my signal."
Ryn nodded and vanished into the forest.
The men moved quickly, silent as smoke. Pit traps lined with sharpened stakes were hidden beneath layers of leaves. Oil was poured into shallow trenches to form burning lines at the first spark. Every move was deliberate — efficient.
By mid-morning, the faint clatter of armor echoed through the trees.
Ashenfall's vanguard emerged in formation, a wall of polished steel and conviction. Their captain rode ahead on a warhorse draped in silver cloth, a sword gleaming like glass in the sunlight. He raised his hand, halting the troops as he scanned the forest.
"Fan out," he barked. "Stay alert. The Bloodstorm favors ambush."
From the shadows, Alaric watched them advance. Calm. Measured. Predictable. He waited until the first rank stepped past the ridge. Until the captain turned his head — too confident, too focused on the empty space ahead.
Then, Alaric raised his hand.
A whistle cut through the air.
The forest erupted.
Flames roared from the ground, sweeping through the dry brush like the breath of a beast. Arrows streaked downward, finding the gaps between plates, felling men before they could cry out. Panic shattered their lines. Horses screamed.
"Formation! Hold—"
The captain's words died as Alaric appeared before him, sword drawn, eyes cold and still as frost.
"You came looking for me," Alaric said quietly. "Here I am."
The captain slashed — fast, trained — but Alaric's blade met his mid-strike, twisting with unnatural precision. Sparks scattered. Then Alaric moved, a blur of crimson light and wind, slicing through steel, flesh, and bone.
The captain's head hit the earth a heartbeat later.
Around them, the battle devolved into chaos. Ashenfall's soldiers tried to regroup, only to find their ground crumbling beneath them. The oil trenches ignited in waves of gold and orange, cutting off escape routes. The screams grew distant, swallowed by the firestorm that devoured everything.
When the last cry faded, silence fell — heavy and absolute.
Alaric stood amid the ruin, his armor streaked with soot and blood, his expression unreadable. The air shimmered with heat, and in that flicker of light, his shadow seemed larger — darker — than the man himself.
"Count the dead," he said at last. "Gather their banners. Burn the rest."
Talia approached, her cloak torn, eyes sharp. "That was one of their elite squads. The city will retaliate. Hard."
"I'm counting on it," Alaric replied. "Let them throw everything they have. The faster they come, the sooner Ashenfall falls."
He turned toward the smoke rising in the east — the city's towers faint in the distance. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, under his breath:
"Every empire burns the same way."
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of ash and victory. The echoes of the fallen lingered in the air — soft, fading, yet hauntingly familiar.
And somewhere beyond the horizon, within Ashenfall's marble halls, the governor received word of his army's annihilation — and knew the war had begun.